“Moses is a strange boy, but his heart is good,” Alma answered. “I don’t care how much it costs. I will pay this English man of the law. I’ll find the money somehow. I don’t know why they had to lock him up. He’s innocent, and he wouldn’t run away. He’d never do that. Moses likes to be close to home.”
“But he left home to go out and work,” Mary Aaron said. “Didn’t you have enough for him to do here on your place?”
Alma looked down at her cup. “Daniel thought it would be best if Moses brought in money regular.”
“So, he helped out with the family,” Rachel said, even though she’d already gotten this information from Moses. It was always good to let people talk when they wanted to; she’d learned that a long time ago. “Even though he didn’t live here?”
“That’s right.” Alma nodded. “Money’s been a problem for us since my husband passed. Moses knew that and he always did his share. Now, he’s the one who needs help.”
“I don’t want you to worry about paying the lawyer,” Rachel insisted. “I think I know someone who may be willing to help. There’s a special fund to—”
“I don’t want charity,” Alma interrupted. “We pay our way. We may not have much, but we pay what we owe.”
“It wouldn’t be charity,” Mary Aaron put in. “It would be no more than you helping a neighbor who’d lost everything in a fire. A good person left money in a will to help Amish families in our valley.”
“It’s just for situations like this,” Rachel explained.
“And we do need help,” Mary Rose said quietly. Her voice was sweet and high-pitched like a child’s, but not jarring. “We won’t make it through the winter if we don’t get more wood chopped. We heat with wood up here, and our woodshed’s not half full.”
Alma folded her arms. “Daniel was a good woodchopper. Anybody who knew him would say that about him. I’ve never seen a man enjoy cutting firewood like he did.”
“Almost like it was a prayer,” Mary Rose said. “He’d split logs by the hour, sometimes until it got too dark to see.” She went back to the sink and finished washing the two quart jars still in the dishpan. “Lemuel is really stepping up with the chores, but he can’t fill Daniel’s shoes. We need Moses home. We need him bad.”
“I’ll mention it to Dat,” Mary Aaron said. “We’ll get some men and boys from the church to come and help.”
“No need to trouble your father. He has his own wood to cut,” Alma replied. She raised the cup to her lips but didn’t drink. “Cold,” she said. “I can’t abide cold coffee.”
“It’s the least we can do for you,” Mary Aaron insisted. “It might be a while before Moses can come home. And you have enough to worry about.”
“Thank you,” Mary Rose said softly. “We would appreciate it.”
Rachel looked at Mary Aaron and tugged inconspicuously at her earlobe. Mary Aaron nodded. “We were wondering,” she said, “was Daniel hunting alone? That day that . . .”
“That he was shot?” Alma’s mouth grew firm. “I wouldn’t know. Mary Rose?”
Mary Rose turned from the sink, her hands dripping water on her apron. “I don’t know. It was the first day of rifle season. A lot of hunters out there. I do know he was going to our old orchard on the edge of our property. Why does it matter who he went with?”
“If somebody was with him, they might have seen something or someone,” Mary Aaron said.
Rachel sipped her coffee. “Did Lemuel go with him?”
“I don’t know,” Mary Rose said.
“I don’t see why it matters.” Alma got up from the table.
Rachel met Mary Aaron’s gaze, then looked at the door. She wanted to talk to Lemuel, but she wondered if maybe it made more sense to speak with him alone. He might be more forthcoming without his mother present. Most teen boys were.
Mary Aaron took a big gulp of coffee. “Could I top off my coffee? It’s delicious.”
“Don’t see why not,” Alma answered, walking to the sink to retrieve several clean jars. “Mary Rose?”
“I’m just going to go outside for a second,” Rachel said, getting out of her chair. “Something in my car,” she muttered. “Be right back.”
Mary Aaron engaged the women in a discussion about the length of the apple season as Rachel slipped out the door. She went out to her vehicle and pretended to look for something on the seat. When she looked up, Lemuel was coming across the barnyard with another box of jars. “Could I speak with you a moment?” she asked.
“Guess so.” He stopped and waited for her to approach. “Moses didn’t do it, you know,” he said. “He wouldn’t. He shouldn’t be in jail.”
“Which is why I’m trying to help him.” Rachel glanced in the direction of the house, then back at the boy. She didn’t like being sneaky. “It would help me if you could tell me, were you hunting with your brother-in-law the day he was killed?”
“Ne.”
“Do you know who was?”
Lemuel shook his head. His nose and bare hands were red with the cold, and his jacket looked thin. Rachel decided to ask her mother if she had any outgrown boys’ coats that would fit him.
“You think Daniel was hunting alone?” she pressed.
“Probably.” Lemuel shrugged noncommittally. “But I don’t know for sure.” He looked down at the ground. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right.” Rachel smiled at him. He didn’t smile back. She pressed her lips together. “Did you hear the shots?”
“Ne.”
“Did you . . . do you know who found Daniel?”
He shook his head and looked away and she felt bad for having asked a child such a thing. It was just that she was trying to piece together what had happened in the woods that day. The chain of
